We went for a walk down McVicar Creek to the Marina, which is now called Prince Arthur's Landing but it's easier to say the Marina. So I will. I do.

(Only a couple of weeks before, Isaac and I had walked along the frozen surface of that very same creek, him insistent on panning for gold, me taking photographs of the rotting ice and not really doing my very best to not panic about the possibility of my seven-year-old falling through the ice to the rushing waters below. In the end, obviously, we made it safely back onto dry land, only to have him sink thigh-deep into a puddle of frozen mud once we were back on the trail. Nothing a hot bath couldn't cure. The pictures are nice, though.)

But this walk, along the same but entirely different creek, went in a different direction. This time, we ended up on the shores of Lake Superior, open water in the harbour, the promise of spring. This time, we happened upon these two. It took me a second to figure out what they were doing, her in her wheelchair, him on the granite bench, rolling the dice between them. I gazed at them for slightly too long before Remembering, then apologized, asked if I could take their photo. They said sure.